Secreted Desires: The Major Uranians - Hopkins, Pater and Wilde

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Michael Matthew Kaylor, 2006 - Authors, English - 457 pages

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Page 245 - This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb...
Page 320 - The Love that dare not speak its name" in this century is such a great affection of an elder for a younger man as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the sonnets of Michelangelo and Shakespeare. It is that deep, spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It...
Page 332 - Conclusion" was omitted in the second edition of this book, as I conceived it might possibly mislead some of those young men into whose hands it might fall. On the whole, I have thought it best to reprint it here, with some slight changes which bring it closer to my original meaning. I have dealt more fully in Marius tht Epicurean with the thoughts suggested by it.
Page 123 - I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went! And more must, in yet longer light's delay.
Page 402 - THE fine delight that fathers thought; the strong Spur, live and lancing like the blowpipe flame, Breathes once and, quenched faster than it came, Leaves yet the mind a mother of immortal song. Nine months she then, nay years, nine years she long Within her wears, bears, cares and combs the same: The widow of an insight lost she lives, with aim Now known and hand at work now never wrong.
Page 124 - I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist— slack they may be — these last strands of man In me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be. But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan With darksome devouring eyes my bruised bones? and fan, O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?
Page 136 - NOT, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man In me or, most weary, cry / can no more. I can ; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
Page 186 - You sea! I resign myself to you also — I guess what you mean; I behold from the beach your crooked inviting fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me...
Page 346 - It seems very pretty," she said when she had finished it, "but it's rather hard to understand ! " (You see she didn't like to confess, even to herself, that she couldn't make it out at all.) " Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas — only I don't exactly know what they are!
Page 227 - Hugo says: we are all under sentence of death, but with a sort of indefinite reprieve — les hommes sont tous condamnes a mart avec des sursis indefinis: we have an interval, and then our place knows us no more. Some spend this interval in listlessness, some in high passions, the wisest, at least among "the children of this world,

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